


Odds and Ends

by ruby_dream



Category: Odin Sphere
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-04-06 23:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14068065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruby_dream/pseuds/ruby_dream
Summary: Compilation of random tumblr prompts taken for Gwendolyn and Oswald's married life or maybe some AU.





	1. These wings should be a sin

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything of Odin Sphere. I'm just another worshipper.
> 
> I just found out that this awesome game was released in PS Vita and PS4 with cooler graphic and skills. I mean, Gwendolyn ultimate skill and Oswald’s berserk mode are just so badass. Wish I had PS4…Well, it has been 6 years ago since I last wrote a fic of this OTP. If you’re looking for a serious fic, I would have to urge you to press back button. This fic is made since I want to dream about their daily, boring cheesy newlywed marriage which is not described much in the game. Or fluff AU. Since their personalities are not clearly shown in domestic life in the game, so these might be OOC. You have been warned. Oh well, bear with me! English is not my mother language too and this is not beta-ed, so I'm sorry for any grammatical/vocabulary mistakes I've abused.

He has seen from far on how majestic her wings are, especially when she glided through the air naturally like a bird as she lunges her spear on the enemy. They carries her in and out of the thick of battlefield resembling a caring mother of her chick. Those indigo-hued blue wings with the tips as black as the obsidian gem reign upon the death of many pitiful souls as the Odin’s Witch soars beneath the cerulean sky. It was as if those wings collect and feed the souls of the victim, instead of the Gungnir.

When folded, they rest on her hips like a docile child. When the master was shaken, the feathers tremble as if each of them is capable of ire. Once they expand as far as they could, fluttering and testing their freedom against the gentle brush of wind, he feels like they are her factual shield instead of the iron guard on her arm; resilient, beautiful and valiant. Peerless as true as their master.

Ever since she turns her back from conflict, and stays on being his devoted wife, those wings seem to be on constraint underneath the beautiful dark royal blue dress she often wears as the keepsake of her mother. Gwendolyn occasionally asks him a moment of privacy to stretch her stiff wings, and he always answers the same; that she does not even need his consent to leave, he only asks her to tell him where she is going so to ease his concern of her safety. Thus, he rarely catches a glimpse of them anymore, not even on their marital bed since she always slumbers with them hidden under her attire.

Therefore, just as much as he desires to trace all part of her that she allows him to touch, his heart yearns to touch those wings too. He wishes to see how they are reflected under the lax shimmer of moonlight. He longs to know the fleeting sensation of those plumes on his callous fingertips. He wants to witness the power they hold, while looking as delicate as they are.

So once in the blue moon, as they lie idly on their bed, when he is brimming with valour he does not realize he possesses, he asks her if he could get a feel of her wings if she lets him. Her cheeks immediately burn like the cherries on the cake in Pooka’s café they frequented, and with each ticking seconds in awkward silence, he starts to feel abashed of his outrageous request. Oswald is about to take back his words and pretend that this conversation never takes place when his wife replies in tiny, trembling whisper.

“Do you really want to?”

His ruby eyes met the sapphire ones, searching for the aversion they might hold for his repulsive appeal. But all he could find is shyness darkened with the mixture of want and curiosity, so he asks back, “Why would I not?”

She shifts on their bed to sit with her eyes never leaving his determined gaze. The corner of her lips slowly turns up and she leisurely lifts the edge of her dress with slight hesitance. “I don’t know. No one ever asks that of me, so it just sounds a bit bizarre, I guess. Only my lost sister has ever brushed my wings when we still know nothing of the world.”

The knight lowers his gaze, already feeling tempted as the wingtip of primary feather peeks through the frame of her skirt. This simple gesture seems so precious that his heart quivers with fear and awe. He feels the need to assure her autonomy to refuse, so he repeats, “but if you are reluctant to do so, I will never ask it again.”

She seems taken aback at first before her brightest smile blooms on her face. “No, if anyone should touch me, it would only be you, my husband. Everything of me is yours, and yours alone to take.”

The Valkyrie leans forward and Oswald follows by lifting himself up until their foreheads meet tenderly and they easily exchange breathes between them while brushing her skirt upward higher. The ivory skin of her lean legs is revealed underneath the pleated dress like glowing stars in the blanket of darkest evening sky. His heart flutters like the beating of hummingbird’s wings, wondering if his cursed eyes are allowed to see such indulgence.

Gwendolyn spread her wing out of its cage and calmly waits, “You may touch it.” She speaks clearly, knowing that her husband would deny his own desire, should she not state clearly of her assent.

He keeps his fingers on the pristine bed sheet for a while before he lastly chooses to follow his heart. Her violet eyes shadow the fidgety hand, feeling conscious of herself while trying to subdue her embarrassment.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he begs her before the tips of his fingers at last glide gently on the black feathers. His touch was so tender as if her wings could break into pieces with a single careless nudge, she hardly feels it. They continued upward with more self-assurance to feel the indigo-hued feathers, close to her hips. His fiery red eyes twinkled with astonishment that she feels lightheaded just from the look on his face. Gwendolyn bites her lower lips to quash the sound welling in her throat that she almost tastes the bitter tang of iron on her tongue. The fluttering feeling in her stomach messes with her head; Oswald’s fingers makes her feeling strange.

When those pale digits reach the coverts, she moans lightly. In the next second, Oswald has instinctively pulled back and cornered himself against the bed board, looking in distress and Gwendolyn clamps her lips with her hand. Crimson stains her face and neck, mortified of her indecency.

“I-I’m sorry for hurting you,” the snowy-haired man instantly start apologizing. He sits across Gwendolyn like a skittish rabbit and he would not even look at her. “I should have known better. My hand destroys things, beautiful things and then I hurt you. How can I even-“

Gwendolyn could not- would not listen to his self-pity, not even one word. How could he think that way when all he makes her feel is happiness, even this uncharted heavenly feelings? Yes, her stomach is still churning with it, but the sensation makes her floating in the high sky and she definitely wants more, craves more of it. She quickly gathers his cheeks in her palms and kisses him to quiet his turmoil.

Once she senses him relaxing against her, the Valkyrie pulls back slightly and chides him, “Do not say that. You make me so happy that it is an insult to me if you think otherwise.”

“But you…”

“Hush now,” she warned him with a feeble glare and a finger on his lips. “I can speak for myself if I do not like it.” Gwendolyn takes his hand on hers and lets it rest on her wing. She takes note of the weight of his hand on her flight instrument and discovers that she likes it. “There was a new feeling that I couldn’t identify before. Will you help me to understand it?”

Oswald’s expression shifts into worry, confusion before he blushes madly once her words sink down on his muddled mind, “May I?”

She nods encouragingly and releases his wrist to let his hands do the wonder. The Shadow Knight caresses the primaries again tentatively, while he is fixated on her micro expression, searching for any sign of discomfort. His slim hand hovers over the wing for a long minute as it roams closer to the sensitive part of her wings before he exhales loudly and experiments combing the covert feather lightly. Gwendolyn shivers and the butterflies in her stomach becomes livelier as the feathers get momentarily caught between the webs of his fingers. Those pleasant hand quickly freezes, keeping still. Once the owner notices that she does not flinch away or seem in pain, he continues with the exploration. He strokes the wing down to the wingtips, exhilarated by the softness under his skin. The covert ones are especially silky while the primaries are long and glossy, tickling his palm.

“Oswald…” A writhing voice breaks his reverie. The fresh rosy colour on her cheeks looks lovely on her that Oswald prays to any deity that hears him for giving an angel to the fallen, disgraced creature like him. Her blue orbs darken with a veil of mist, glazed with dreamy airs.

He wants to see her plunging deeper into the abyss. He has resisted it for so long, afraid of tainting her with his darkness, but this little bird, the ray of his hope, dives into the depth of his filth like the fearless Valkyrie headfirst into the core of frontline.

“Oswald,” she repeats, ringing louder and clearer than the first time his name escapes her lips. “I want to touch you, to know every corner of you. Do you want me?” Gwendolyn confessed with assurance, despite her cheeks as red as raspberries she loves. His pale, slender hands, which are so apparent in contrast to her dark-coloured wings, are now her new addiction, she realizes. His gently touch like she is a made by easily shattered glass and his fiery eyes laid upon hers, veiled by his wintry strands, like the scorching ember of hearth in the winter; his brittle faithful heart, profoundly buried under the ruthless, taciturn front, she loves all of them. There has never been a side of him that she fails to find it dearest to her heart, even all of his imperfection and weaknesses. And now she basks in the glorious feeling of Oswald’s precious hand on her flight feathers. Gwendolyn adds it as another item in her ‘things-that-she-loves-about-Oswald’ list in her mind. The array of the items are still growing and she could not wait to discover more, and she is about to find out all of them as long as her lifetime allows her.

Oswald is still for transitory five seconds, holding his breath while trying to process whether he is in the middle of daydream or not. Once he notices that she starts to clench her dress into fists, looking increasingly frightened with his lack of response, he knows that an answer shall not be delayed for any longer.

Who is he to deny his Goddess? He, who is the servant of her smiles, whether she wishes it or not, will even lay his life under her feet if she inquires him. One word, and he shall travel to the end of the Netherworld to fulfil her wishes. Therefore, he tilts his head with softest smile and spreads his arms in submission.

_Yours. All I am is yours. For you are the reason for what I am now._


	2. As the blood flows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tumblr prompt: Imagine an Erion where Oswald becomes a protective big brother figure to Mercedes. Not a happy ending, fyi. POV shifts from Mercedes to Oswald

“Princess Mercedes!” A chorus of cry rings as the wind carries it to the distant field. One of the sound is heavier than the rest, but it is laced with worry just the same. “Where are you?”

A rustle of the swaying grass and flower buds was buried by the shouts. Among the emerald fields and rainbow-colored phozon glows, a gleam of gold is hardly spotted. Mercedes sneaks quietly as she tiptoes across her flower meadow. She grumbles a little, “You’re quite persistent.”

She only makes up to five meters when a gentle voice comes from above her head, “Wait, Mercedes.”

The majestic queen of Faerie, Elfaria drifts down to the ground as her butterfly wings flutters against the air with her personal guards flying behind her. She immediately halts on her track and greets with weak smile, “Mother…”

“Where are you off to with my precious bow?” Her tone is light, yet the princess hears scold in it.

“Princess Mercedes, we finally find you!” her pursuers catches up with her. One of them specifically sounds quite unhappy. “Where are you going by yourself? It is not safe for a princess to go alone without a guard.”

Mercedes turns to her pursuers; or specifically at the one with moonlight-colored hair and black armor and grumbles curtly, “Frog hunting.”

The man looks aghast and frowns disapprovingly at her, “It is not your job! You should have commanded me and the guards to take care of them.”

Mercedes still scowls at him with a pout. She scrutinizes the man in front of her. He is called Oswald, well-known swordsman throughout the whole Erion as the Shadow Knight of Ringford. His name alone evokes fear among warriors in the battlefield. He is often depicted as a monster with shape of void shadow, carrying crimson sword. Despite his full-body obsidian armor, his movement is quick, silent and precise like an assassin; so agile that his prey never see how he truly looks like but a shadow with red trails. It is told that he drenches the sword in enemies’ pool of blood until it turns red. His eyes glint like dark garnets, which have similar color to the blood he loves to spill. The only thing that stands out from such abysmal creature is his snow-like hair; a speck of white amidst the bottomless darkness.

There were days when she had her own doubt if the rumor is truly speaking of this man, who is just an overprotective older brother to her.

No, they are not related by blood. There is no single drop of fairy flowing in his body. He does not even have wings on his back. Nevertheless, when her older cousin, Melvin, had returned to the kingdom with a human baby in his arms, Oswald had been living among them ever since. She knows that he has been treated as outsider by other fairies, but she understands that they are just _afraid_ of him, of what he is capable of. He is a prodigy with swords, as much as bows to her. No bows, axes or swords in Ringford ever touches a single of his strands of hair during mock battle. The only thing that separates them is war experience. He is quite a seasoned warrior, who survives hundreds of battles against Odin’s Valkyries and soldiers. On contrary, she is a sheltered princess, who is only allowed to hunt frogs if her brother is not present to stop her.

However, to her, he is _just_ Oswald, her infuriating big brother who is always excessively paranoid, thinking that she would die just from a scratch. One day, she fell when they were playing hide-and-seek (or actually she played and he just humored her) and scraped her knee. It was bleeding a little, but it did not hurt. She was about to lick the wound, when Oswald stopped her and looked frightened at the small wound, saying that it could be infected and she could die. She remembered that she told him off that she was okay and the wound did not hurt, yet he ignored her and instantly swept her up into his arms into bridal style and ran to the kingdom (or precisely, he leapt across the meadow). He yelled for a healer in panic, as if she was in real danger. The residents who witnessed his fussing thought that she was critically wounded. In consequence, the whole kingdom was in uproar for a while, saying that the Valkyries had lead sneak attack and harmed princess. The incident nearly brought redundant war to Ragnanival if she was an hour late to announce to her people that she was fine. It was the most embarrassing noon for her, it scarred her for life.

Elfaria stared at her child, smiling with a pity on her eyes, “I see. This is necessary to exterminate those pests that eat the little Fairies. But you should leave that task to the soldiers, dear.”

Mercedes gawks at her mother, who is taking Oswald’s side. From the corner of her eyes, she senses that Oswald is nodding favorably at her. Her irritation grows, but she reigns her anger. She could not let him to stop her all the time. He could not protect her all the time and she does not want to be protected like a damsel in distress. Mercedes answers with determination, “I just want to improve my skills with the bow, so I can join you on the battlefield.”

The light in her mother’s eyes dims a little, “Mercedes, I cannot take you along when we battle the Demon Lord.”

“No! Why not!?” She exclaims, “Why do you only take bro- Oswald with you!?” She is not supposed to call him brother in public. Her mother and brother warn her each time. People will disparage him even worse, saying that he is using black magic to enchant the royal families to gain favor.

“Mercedes, you are young,” her mother replies, “You must learn that you mustn’t be eager to go to war without even knowing why we are fighting.”

Across Elfaria’s shoulder, she sees the familiar blond man trailing behind her mother. Melvin resumes her mother as he steps closer to her, “We, born from the forest, cannot live without Phozons. However, the Demon Lord has declared war on us so that he may obtain our treasure, the Cauldron. It will give him enormous power.”

“Unbelievable,” the princess gasps with ire and disbelief.

Her mother chuckles softly and pats her head, “Mercedes, I shall entrust you with my precious bow. It will be your responsibility to protect the country while I am away.”

“Your Majesty!?” She could hear a loud protest behind her.

 _Hmph, I win, brother._ She smirks triumphantly as she answers, “Yes, Mother. I understand,” she pauses for a second before she lifts her mother’s favorite bow. “So, I’ll be off hunting now.” Her feet slightly bounce against the dirt and her adolescent wings quickly catch the wind to let her drift on the air. She hurriedly passes through them and goes to the lake where the frogs often reside.

Melvin audibly sighs and speaks of his mind, “This is a problem. She has no idea of her position and what is expected of her.”

“Your Majesty, let me accompany the princess to the hunt…!” Oswald argues feebly, but he relents when his adopted father’s gaze rebukes him.

Elfaria smiles at him, oblivious to Melvin’s glare toward the swordsman, “Oswald and Melvin, you are like her brothers. Please help her become a good queen.”

Oswald spares a glance at his adopted father before he follows his father’s step, bowing to the queen. Melvin speaks his oath, “As you wish. I shall make it my duty to assist Princess Mercedes in any way possible.”

Elfaria gives them another maternal smile before she turns her back toward them and leaves for the throne chamber. When there is safe distance between them, Melvin turns to his adopted son with taut bearing. Oswald looks up expectantly, waiting for his command and hoping that his father would ask him to protect Mercedes during her hunt.

“Oswald, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” he says in a heartbeat.

“I ask you to prove your proficiency and slay a dragon,” Melvin stares at him, searching for any hint of horror or reservation in those faithful ruby eyes. He looks pleased when he finds none but absolute loyalty in them. “There is a wise dragon, named Hindel. He is on the top of Winterhorn Ridge. I need you to demonstrate the ability of your Belderiver so the Queen would understand the necessity of mass-producing its power in the upcoming war against Demon Lord.” He puts his fist on his chin in contemplation as he adds, “If we can end this war soon, Princess Mercedes will be safer.”

He does not need one second to decide. If the corpse of a mythical beast is all Melvin needs to persuade the queen and create a safe haven for his beloved little sister, he would gladly risk his limbs and life to slaughter them all. He bows his head to Melvin and leaves to another gory ground in silence.

 

* * *

 

Oswald rushes across the hallway, wishing that he could get rid human’s limitation and run faster. He has just returned from his reconnaissance mission to the Ragnanival when he hears news that there was an intruder when he was gone. One of precious treasures of the Queen, Ring of Titrel, is stolen away by a girl with red hood. More importantly, Mercedes was hurt during the fight against the assailant. He swears to the gods that he will torture that intruder, woman or not, thousand times worse than what she has done to Mercedes, until she begs to die when he captures her.

He is immediately stopped by the unicorn guards in front of princess’ chamber. He tries to push against them, but they persist to halt him.

“Let me pass, or I will kill you,” he growls furiously with murderous glare at the guards. They flinch at his threat, but stand still in front of the mahogany door.

A muffled command rings from the inside, “let him in. No need for violence over this.”

The guards reluctantly moved aside and Oswald wasted no time to push open the door. He exhales the air that he has been holding in unconsciously once he sees her sitting on the edge of the bed with healthy colors on her face. He takes quick steps and crouches before her with anxious look.

“Mercedes, are you alright? Do you have pain anywhere?” his hand twitches rebelliously on his knee, wanting so strongly to hold her hand to make sure that this is not a dream and she is truly fine.

The little princess looks amused as she jokes, “I’m so fine that I bet I could crush you with my bow.”

Oswald’s lips tug upward a little, “Not in a million chance.”

“Is that a bet?” She continues with exhilaration, “What is my prize if I win?”

Oswald shrugs, “my life, I guess?” He just could not think another response or jest in this situation.

Mercedes crunches her eyebrows in repulsion, “Eww…I don’t need it. You are more fun alive, especially when you look troubled.”

The Shadow Knight sighs and chuckles, “What did I do in my previous life to deserve this obnoxious little sister?”

“I am certain that you have done a lot of good deed and die as a hero to warrant such a lovely, sympathetic and splendid sister like me.”

Oswald snorts sardonically, to Mercedes’ pique.

 

* * *

 

The tension is high in the atmosphere. He could sense it like a snake coils around its game. Once or twice, he wonders if he really sees animosity in Melvin’s jade eyes whenever they land on Mercedes when she is not looking. He shakes his head, trying to get rid such evil thought. There is no way that Melvin could hate Mercedes. They are cousins, related by blood. If they could be kind toward him, who shares no blood or race, they definitely would be harmonious to their kin. It must be because the war is on their doorstep and Melvin is concerned about princess’ safety.

Melvin beckons him closer and reminds, “Oswald, you must demonstrate the overwhelming power of that sword.” Oswald recalls that the Queen Elfaria has refused Melvin’s proposal to mass-produce the Psyphers like his. He is dissatisfied with her verdict, but it is not his place to question her wisdom when he possesses no talent for it. He replies with a short nod and holds his sword tighter. There will be mountains of birds’ carcass at the end of this battle.

 

* * *

 

The storm of golden dust rages over the desert, the remnant of fallen Kingdom of Valentine. He feels at home when the smell of rust and decay envelops him. He finds meaning of his life in battlefield; to Melvin’s glory, to Mercedes’ safety, to Ringford’s welfare. Oswald leaves trail of valkyrie’s blood across the abandoned land and makes his haste to Melvin and Queen Elfaria’s side. He is only halfway when a specter abruptly appears before him. He dodges backward and points his sword at the mysterious being. The specter has no face and it is covered by putrid skin-like mist. A bloody enormous scythe is on its skeletal hand while the other hand holds a shimmering blue crystal. It speaks and he could smell its foul breath from meters away, “Oswald, dedicate your life to death and darkness…”

“Who are you?” There is no fear in his heart. Be it demons or ghosts, he will vanquish them if they hinder his mission.

“I take the Chosen to the Underworld. People see me in their last moments and wail…” it says and Oswald scoffs. He would allow this creature to run its tongue while his patience remains. “A contract binds your life to the hands of Queen Odette of the Netherworld.”

“I know of no such contract.”

“You act as if you own the darkness. Only those bound to death have that power. Why do you think that is?” The specter pauses momentarily as if it sneers at him. “A certain man pledged your life in exchange for the lethal power in that sword.”

A cold shiver runs along his spine. He could hear his heart cracking with qualm. “No…It couldn’t have been Melvin…”

“The time has come,” The Halja declares its ultimatum. “What gives you power is already rotting away at your mind and body. Now, as the contract has deemed, give me your soul!”

Oswald leaps forward and strikes first to Halja’s skeletal hand. It is not the time to think about this contract. However, before the crimson sword hits it, the specter has vanished from his sight. He barely corrects his stance when he feels the chilling presence behind him. He reflexively ducks and throws a low blow to the Halja as he turns around. The strike feels hollow, as if he is hitting mist. The howl of specter is the only evidence he has that Belderiver could harm the underworld’s messenger. The death messenger summons its skeletal underlings and they rush toward him, trying to tore his flesh apart and feed on him. He slays one of them and two more take its place. There is no other way but to kill the Halja, but it is difficult with those swarm of dead pests coming at him from every direction.

He has no choice but to delay his arrival to Melvin’s side.

 

* * *

 

The ring of solemn bell echoes throughout the nation. The Ringford, the most beautiful nation with its nature blessing, feels like a graveyard at the moment.

When Oswald at last returns to his home, there are only mournful faces wherever he looks. He struggles so hard, trying to end the Halja as soon as possible and aid the war, but the dweller of Netherworld is a formidable foe. It is the first time he feels like standing on the thin rope against death. His armor feels heavy against his skin and cuts are all over his body when he finally lands the final blow against Halja. It bellows like a dying stray dog before it melts away to the ground, as if it returns to where its master.

And when he reaches the HQ, the war is over.

A pile of dead fairy troops looks like a nightmare to him.

 

* * *

 

As he reaches the marble stairs of throne chamber, he witnesses Mercedes’ small back as she sits on the floor. When he gets closer, a sound of heart-wrenching sob reaches his ears. He understands, so perfectly, the meaning of those tears and the reason of its despair. His feet freeze on the spot.

It is his fault. If he was not so weak, he would have made it in time to protect Queen Elfaria. If he had stayed on her side, Mercedes might not have cried over her loss.

He could not face disappointment reflected in her eyes when she looks at him. So he turns away and seeks the only one who could provide him salvation.

Knowing perfectly that his father would be in the war room, he trots to him. The cascading lilies glow bright on the pillars. He feels exposed with so much light, feeling unworthy of its light. When the light hits his father’s feature, Oswald recoils at his shuttered fury. Melvin promptly barks at the sight of him, “You! What are you doing!? While you’ve been loafing, the Aesir have invaded!”

He keeps his silence with lowered eyes. He deserves this. Yet, at the sight of his father, the memory of his recent encounter with Halja keeps rewinding inside his head.

“As you can see, we have been utterly defeated. Queen Elfaria has been killed,” Melvin turns his back on him, as if he was a disgrace. “My reputation is ruined…”

The Shadow Knight speaks guiltily, “I apologize…”

“Stay put, you idiot.”

Oswald cringes at his tone. This is the first time he has ever seen Melvin so furious at him. His glare speaks many things; accusation, betrayal, and disappointment. He wonders if Melvin would renounce him as his son for his remarkable failure. He has to explain his botch. Moreover, he needs answer for the contract he has no knowledge of. It keeps spinning in his head, making him think so many awful thoughts. Once Melvin clears up this misunderstanding, surely, surely he could focus and redeem himself.

“Melvin…The Halja came for me,” he said with hesitance.

His father at last turns on his heel and faces him. Certainly he would deny such slander that Halja hints at him, Oswald assures himself. Yet the answer only breaks his heart.

“All parents want their children to be powerful. In your case, I succeeded,” Melvin exclaims with dignity. ”In fact, you have the power to keep the Halja at bay.” His tone is paternal toward him and Oswald figures that his disappointment to Melvin’s answer must be a transgression. How could he do that to the one who shows him compassion and raises him without asking anything in return?

“Do not worry. You must trust me, Oswald.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to burn any root of doubt in his heart. He is so deep in his thought that he is too late to hear the familiar flutter of wings coming closer toward them. Her ruined voice with tears resounds clearly with ire, “Melvin!”

Oswald immediately catches a glimpse of Mercedes’ figure as she lands before Melvin. He averts his eyes quickly away from the little princess. He could not bear the shame of his failure in front of her. He wishes that he could vanish or hide inside Melvin’s shadow and be gone forever. It seems that gods hear his pray. Mercedes seems not noticing his presence, or she might be ignoring him completely as her fiery, condemning emerald orbs utterly stick on Melvin.

“How could this happen?! You said that I could leave everything to you!” She screams with agony. Oswald could not bear to hear the pain in her voice. “What were you doing!? Why did you not protect my mother!?” Though the allegation is thrown at Melvin, Oswald feels like the words are striking true to his heart. It is his sword duty to protect royal family. He is Melvin’s sword. It is not the wielder’s fault if the sword is so blunt that it fails to serve its purpose.

Melvin bows to her apologetically as he explains calmly, “What happened is indeed most unfortunate. I am not surprised you are emotional. Queen Elfaria made for a prominent target. This is a shame we could not save her. From this point on,” he continues slowly, “I shall assist Princess Mercedes in resuscitating the country.”

Oswald suppresses his tremble when he listens to Mercedes’ low-pitched refusal. “I may not find it necessary to ask you for assistance.” Then, she abandons them to return to her chamber. His whole body longs to chase that forlorn back and consoles her. But he is the whole reason for her anguish, he would be too conceited to think that he will be able to ease her pain.

Melvin clenches his fists and grumbles, “Hmph…You are indeed arrogant, little queenling. If Elfaria had listened to my advice, she would have survived the battle.” He mutters his thought as he leaves Oswald behind with all his dark thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Oswald does not understand politics. He has no such ambition for status or power. He only wants to be the sword and shield to people he loves.

Therefore, even though he could not understand why Melvin is raising an army to assume Mercedes’ lawful right, he still follows his command. Once he asks his father’s intention toward his precious little sister, Melvin says that Mercedes would not surrender her crown willingly, in order to fulfill her mother’s wish. Nevertheless, being a queen means that she is susceptible to danger, especially the Demon Lord that seems to consider fairies’ annihilation as his life purpose. She is still young and has so much to learn. She should be grow older, stronger and wiser before she takes that burden. Melvin considers that he should take the crown until Mercedes has come of age. Oswald agrees without question.

He assists Melvin faithfully, disposing the opposing Paladins, persuading the sorcerer to swear loyalty to Melvin. Anything he can do to ascertain Mercedes’ welfare, he will not hesitate. However, the effect of the curse starts to gnaw from the inside. He lost his dexterity and strength. He grits his teeth and marches on. As long as his heart beats and his hand can lift a sword, he will do Melvin’s commands and brings happiness to Mercedes.

 

* * *

 

He misses his little sister so dearly. He wishes he could see her radiating smile for him once more.

He just could not understand where their path starts to diverge and why everything turns out like this.

His little sister was chased out of the palace and Melvin’s party occupied the castle. Nevertheless, she returns with fortitude to be a Queen on her lithe shoulders, leading her people to claim back what is hers. She was cornered, her allies were slaughtered and Melvin spoke to her condescendingly like he did not care for her. Was not this revolution done with Mercedes’ well-being into upmost consideration? Yet she gallantly refused to yield. He would be so proud of her, if he had not become her enemy. That spoiled, adorable little princess has grown into a proper leader in a matter of days.

“Oswald.”

He jerks as he hears his name. He begs all the gods.

_No, no, no…_

“Why not test the Belderiver on the queen herself?” Melvin leers at the queenling. Oswald feels sick.

How could he choose between his father and his little sister? No matter who he picks, he would with conviction fail one of them.

When he steps forward with heavy limb, he wishes he was dead when he fought the dragons. Mercedes glares at him with betrayal and there is no hint of joy when she looks at him. A fleeting reminiscent of her delightful smiles, her hugs, and her innocent kisses reserved for him seems like a distant dream now. He is not sure which one is the dream.

“You betray me, brother,” she spats, “No, you are not a sibling of mine, traitor.”

His heart cries. Yet his body moves and his sword clangs loudly against the arrows of hers. He does not have to see, but he could hear Melvin’s footsteps growing distant. He has left the battlefield to attend the war.

He is slow to swing his sword and dodge the magic shots. It scratches his left cheek before another blow comes after his leg. Oswald jumps backward and feels the beck of abyss behind his eyes. Nevertheless, the darkness refuses him, as they wish to return him to Queen Odette.

Oswald bitterly laughs. As if he cares. Even if Queen of Death lends him her power voluntarily, he will never allow the darkness to touch Mercedes’ skin. If he really has to fight her, he will rely on his own skill. Moreover, the result of this battle is clear before it even starts. His body is tremendously weakened by Queen Odette’s will. His tortured heart abates his swordsman skill even further and his body involuntarily refuses to critically hurt his sister.

He suppresses a groan when an arrow slips between the plates of his leg armor. Oswald crouches on the dirt, trying to gasp what little air could provide. His blood drips down, staining the green grass with red paint while it soaks through his pants.

“Why are you not fighting me seriously, Shadow Knight?” The proud new queen asks with curiosity as she points her bow at his forehead. “Are you insulting me that you can defeat me with such handicap? I told you once that I could crush you with my bow.”

Oswald regretfully smiles as he recalls those happy days, “Yes, you did.” He lifts his eyes to meet her glittering gaze. She is still the little sister he recognizes. Her petite stature, jade orbs, plump cheeks, golden hairs, white flower headband, butterfly wings with turquoise shade, fair skin. The only things missing from her are her childish smile and innocent eyes; another thing in his list that he has robbed of her. “And I told you that my life is yours if you come victorious.”

There is a pregnant, heavy pause lingers between them. He could see a waver in her resolve. He shut his eyes, resigned his fate into her hands. It would be his redemption for everything he has done to her.

But he could no longer feel the cruel cold of steel bow from his forehead.

“And I told you, I don’t need your life. I will not soil my mother’s bow with your filthy blood.”

The last thing he sees of her is her retreating back.

 

* * *

 

Oswald drags his feet to Melvin’s chamber, wishing that he would be at least united with his father if death must come. Everything is blurry with the blotch of black at the edges of his sight. Then there is a shape; the one that he has to recognize. He crawls closer, trying to have a good look of his father. “Melvin, is that you? My eyes are clouding…I cannot see.”

“Then it seems your time is almost up.” A wheezing voice comes from that shape, but it is void of any affection. “You worthless fool, breaking down like this…I should have prepared a replacement to take the Belderiver from you.”

Fear is running full course through his veins. “A replacement…? Melvin, did you really trade my life for the Belderiver?”

A scornful laugh rings deafeningly in his ears.

“No, this is a lie…”

His father keeps chuckling, leaving him cold with horrible truth.

“…What exactly am I to you? Answer me!”

“You are simply an object,” Melvin admits without remorse. “Just a tool…for me to become king.”

Oswald froze. This must be a nightmare. He has to wake up real quick before it swallows him whole. He kills innocent lives for this man. He betrays his sister for this man. He risks his life numerous times for this man; his father who thinks nothing of him. How could he be so blind, that he only finds out when he is nearing death?

As if to prove his point, Melvin returns his name to Heaven, leaving him behind without a second thought.

He did not care anymore. Death could cradle what is left of him back to Netherworld. When Halja approaches him and swings his scythe, he did not even pray. He has no more hope or wish for gods to listen, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it continues on like in the game.
> 
> PS: Oswald shall shoo away Ingway whenever he gets close to Mercedes and Odin Sphere shall have happily ever after. But nope, I don’t do that because I have no idea how they manage Armageddon otherwise. Sorry.


	3. I will stay with you in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald is constantly awake from nightmare during cold season. Gwendolyn is worried.

Even within the haze of your dreamless sleep, you definitely feel the shift of atmosphere around you. It feels like you are being embraced by dark mist; murky and vile, the one you would never be able to forget even now. Usually you smell iron crust in the air amidst of chaotic battlefield when you feel it, while your eyes chase the shadow of your enemies. If you are not chained down by call of your sleep, you would probably have realized that you are in your chamber and there is nothing that can harm you in here. No war is waged in your sanctuary, and you would never allow it.

You have a treasure to keep safe in here after all.

Nevertheless, the siren call of your Valkyrie’s blood, the primal instinct of Odin’s Witch, awakens you immediately as you sense the peril. In a blink, you find yourself looking at the back of your spouse. His broad shoulders that easily lift the bloody sword and storm through the frontline, tremble so slightly that you almost consider that you are imagining it. People would think that he has nothing to be afraid of with the power and skill he possesses, with Belderiver or not. He has slayed dragons, the most feared creature in the whole Erion, twice after all. But you know him well, including all his darkest fears, as he understands yours. Thus, you are alarmed even further, vowing not to disregard such an opaque sign.

Before you turn in, the heavy clouds hang low in the sky, threatening to pour down all of its droplets to the earth. The downpour has become quite common on recent weeks, as the cold-biting winter is forthcoming. When that happens, the misty air floats and surrounds the old castle you reside in. In such weather, you notice that Oswald never sleeps well. Maybe the chill hits way too close to home to him. You can hardly blame him though. The memory of your short visit to Underworld still brings shiver to your feathers; its stillness air and the icy breeze are full of despair as if they may drain your life dry.

You prop up on your elbow, and your silky silver hair falls into your eyes as you rise up from the bed. You extend your hand so carefully, wishing not to frighten him any further from anything that follows him from the darkest abyss in his heart. He does not even seem to notice you approaching, as if he is in trance, like he is being trapped in the cage of his own nightmare. His glimmering ruby eyes probably reflect nothing but the barrenness of obsidian night sky. Seeing him like this scares you that he might be swallowed up and vanished from your sight, like back then when you lost him to Underworld. You do not wish to let him stay in such world without a glimmer of light reaching its ground, figuratively or literally.

Brushing your hair through your shoulder, you lean forward and embrace him from behind. You do notice the startling jerk that he tries to subdue when your palms brush his arms, however nothing leaves your lips but a sigh. It only takes him seconds to collect himself before he pretends that nothing is wrong, like he always does.

Your husband tilts his head and smiles at you, gently, gently like a dying star. The sight wrings your heart, and you smile back wistfully.

“What is wrong, Gwendolyn? Why are you awake from your slumber?”

You clench your teeth, resisting the urge to return his question. Therefore, you shake your head and lean your forehead against his back. “Nothing is wrong,” you lie. “The night is just too cold, I cannot get back to sleep.”

If he notices your lie, he definitely does not call you out of it. Instead, he kisses your forehead so softly that your heart flutters with giddiness. He seems to have that effect on you, whatever he is doing. “Try to get some sleep. I will bring you some hot milk.”

Before you can refuse him since you long for his warmth more than a glass of sweet milk, he leaps off the bed and trots in haste and grace toward the bedroom door. You do not know what to do with your hand, hanging in the air uselessly as the hand you wish to take has vanished from your sight. Thus you rest your hands on your lap.

Uncertain whether you should chase after him or wait for his return, you let your mind wander as the sight of coal-coloured sky without a glimmer of silver light of moon fills your eyes. The pristine sheet bed is apparently colder without the soothing presence beside you, yet you wait. Nevertheless a passing minute turns into two and more and you just could not bear the wait any longer. You push the blanket away, leaving the scrap of comfort it offers.

The temptation to return to the bed becomes almost unbearable the second your toes kiss the biting-cold floor. However, your heart flutters like a hummingbird at the thought of loss of your half, as if you have lost more than a shadow, so you brace yourself and stride out of the bedroom.

At night, the castle is reigned by darkness and pitch-black shadow, cast by the meagre light of torches in the wall. Although you have remembered the map of the castle by heart, you could never get rid your obsession of welfare; all the basic of battle has been ingrained in your body for decades. You trail down the stairs so carefully while your hand trace the stone wall to avoid unnecessary accident.

Once your feet reach the kitchen door, you note a light streaming through the door crack. Your hand immediately grabs the door handle and pushes it, feeling elated at the prospect of finding your husband. Yet the scene played before your eyes is not what you have prepared prior coming inside.

The most feared swordsman in Erion stares at the boiling pot as if it holds all the secret to his questions. Nevertheless, his mind seems to wander to far distance. You conclude that the milk must have been heated for a while with half of its content gone from the pot. While you would not mind him contemplating whatever matters to him in such ungodly hour, you could not let this moment any longer as he might hurt himself if he unintentionally knocks the burning utensil.

You stealthily sneak behind his back and reach out to turn off the stove. With Oswald’s back against your bosom, you could sense him flinching as you catch him off guard.

“Gwendolyn,” he gasps loudly before he acts vainly as if you did not just ruffle his feathers. “Am I taking too long?”

You contemplate whether it is worth to point out that he is behaving oddly that it worries you.

You may have been married to this man, who defines your whole world, for several months. You may have known his loneliness and horror, but you do not know yet which button to press safely so he will not recoil and hide away from you. Oswald has always put his valiant front before you, instinctively pushing himself beyond his limit to make you feel safe. He hides everything he deems as flaws away from your sight. Though you are way far-off from being fragile, he always treats you prudently like cradling the broken egg shells. While you are flattered that he holds you important, it frustrates you to no end that he forces himself for something you do not need.

One day, _one day_ for certain, you would sit with him and clear this subject when he realizes that you love every facet of him. That goal seems far-fetched in the future, though.

You smile at him and move aside to take a dish towel. You swiftly move the boiling pot away to the table and pull away two set of teacups from the cupboard. After setting them on the table and pouring the over-heated milk into the cups, you brazenly take hold of his hands and drag him to the seat next to you. This time he stares at the swirling white liquid in front of him and silence once again holds him prisoner.

“I just want to warm up myself in the kitchen,” you let a lie dripping out of your lips smoothly. “It is truly a cold night.”

The warmth of the sweltering teacups seeps through your palms as you hold them up and blow gently from the rim of the cup. You take a small sip of honeyed milk when you deem it warm enough to drink. He absentmindedly copies your movement, taking no heed to the heat apparently. You could not help but assume that the claw of this nightmare seems to dig deeper under his skin than usual. You have never seen Oswald preoccupied to such extent.

You really wish that he would take courage to reveal his weakness to you; to pour all his anxiety to you, but you could never jostle him for it. He is raised with the idea of epitome loyal swordsman throughout his life; never fear, never question, never want. Expressing anxiety seems to be ludicrous weakness to Oswald. You could only imagine if he ever complains whenever he is hurt and sad during his childhood or if any adults ever indulge him kindly during hard moment. You fear that encouraging him to do what he has never done before may break him.

Not knowing what you can do for your beloved treasure, you tilt yourself until your head leans on his right shoulder and your left arm and thigh are plastered against his right side. You are content to notice that his stiff shoulder slowly relaxes as warmth is shared between you. Letting a soft, happy sigh escaping your lips, you stare at the kitchen idly. Several baskets of myriad vegetables and bottles of dried fruits are lined up neatly on the cupboard, as acknowledgement to Myris’ effort. The bags of flour and necessities are heaped hidden at the corner.

Once you empty your cup, your husband puts your hand in his. You feel blush, that always appears with every tiny gesture of his attention, creeping slowly from your neck up to your ears. With his hand enveloping yours, you could feel the slow, melodious thump of his pulse. You cannot help yourself but to lift your head and search for answer behind his crimson irises. For once tonight, his beautiful, sparkling eyes are fully fixated on you and the corner of his lips rises up like an ethereal-beauty of crescent moon. The ghost of shadow that follows him from the bedchamber afore is absent.

Oswald whispers with lower tone than his usual dialogue close to your ear, “Thank you for accompanying me.”

You blush a bit brighter, abashed for your true intention being called out. Nothing seems to miss Oswald, you think, so you reply heartily, “My pleasure.”

“Let us return to slumber,” he suggests, to your liking. You would struggle indefinitely to stay awake beside him if Oswald perseveres on staying up late, but his proposal is positively more tempting. Your eyelids start to rebel against you as the time ticks away. He picks up the teacups and rinses them on the sink. His calloused hand leads you back to the bedchamber as you rub your eyes, trying hopelessly to cast away sleep.

Once you are eased back to the bed, you feel the comforting weight of his arm, encircling on your waist while his chest provides warmth on your back. You could hear a tender murmur, ghosting against your nape and blowing gently your silver hair as he exhales, “Good night, Gwendolyn.”

You press closer toward him and close your eyes slowly, praying to all gods devotedly to grant your wish, “Good night, Oswald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just found this half-done fic. Now I get too rusty in writing to finish it. Oh well, might as well just post it.


	4. Sweet talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random prompt: sweet talk  
> Oswald worships Gwendolyn and tells her so. Honestly, that’s how he felt so it’s not his fault if Gwendolyn is embarrassed. So why is Gwendolyn suddenly way too eager and bold to his comfort? He blushes too much when she takes her revenge.

Her people would say that nothing, _nothing_ in the world could faze the second daughter of King Odin, Odin’s Witch, the true progeny of Valkyrie’s blood and pride. She does not flinch at the inflicted pain, sight of corpse, pool of red, or even the carnage of wars. There is no hint of misery when her beloved sister, the most resilient general of Valkyrie died. She acts in a matter of second to challenge the death bringer, the dreaded Shadow Knight of Fairy Kingdom. She does not even cower under the hard, furious glare of the volatile King Odin. Rumor said that she even dared to defy the most feared Queen of Underworld without even a tremble in her crystal-clear voice.

There is nothing truly that could deter her.

But Myris knows her Master better than anyone else. And she has followed her through many tempestuous life venture that she would have no part if such grand rumor regarding her Master is tarnished.

After decades of her service, only one thing that could ever overwhelm the Valkyrie Princess. A thing that all fallen Valkyrie despises and yet is underprivileged of; for all they have known in their life is the luxury of gliding through the breeze and mesmerizing azure sky and claiming victories upon death of their enemies.

She is quite glad that while her Master may have been deprived of parental love that she deserves, she has found the half of her soul to fill the empty vessel within her. That is how she truly feels as she views the familiar scene plays before her from the corner, barely noticeable, just like many mornings before.

“Gwendolyn, I _cannot_ bear the thought of any single of them to lay their eyes upon your graceful figure, let alone touch you even with a fingertip! My morning star, you have to understand.”

Myris rubs her ears softly as she listens. Listening to them talking to each other gives her butterflies on her furry tummy and she feels the urge to scratch her itchy bunny ears. If anyone else, she would scoff and catalogue such line as tacky honey-sweet lies. Nevertheless, such words are coming from the prominent assassin who is susceptible to thrust his sword at your face than talk. Words are not his forte, and he seems to only have certain word quota of the day to waste them on lies.

The feathers on her Master’s wings shook slightly. Her moonlight-pale skin tone is a tad darker with rosy color when he adores her as his morning star.

“I am not weak!” The Valkyrie dissents. None of them might notice but Myris that her voice quivers at the beginning. “I cannot bear the thought of letting you go to the battlefield, risking yourself to mortal wound or death, while I was waiting here for news! What if those abominable creatures come and try to steal you away from me where I cannot see you?!”

“Gwendolyn, Halja will not come for me prior its rightful time anymore,” the silver-haired combatant lowers his voice, trying to calm her frazzled nerve. “You have fought Queen Odette valiantly like no other Valkyrie or any other beings could achieve. I have witnessed your valour with my own eyes, thus I know more than anyone else that there is no shred of weak in your blood.”

“You don’t know that!” She turns on her heels angrily, whipping her platinum strands along with her graceful, vehement move. “I will never trust the words dripping from that vile Queen who dares to declare claim upon someone’s spouse without consent.”

“It was on my consent, due to my own weakness.” Myris could barely hear the murmur, but the impact is quite significant. Her Master whirls around and there is the bloodthirst ire in her lovely features. In long strides, she stands before her husband with inflated chest and grabs his hands in hers.

“No, you are not,” She emphasizes it with a sharp glare at his ruby eyes before casting her eyes on the tile floor. “You _are not_ giving any consent, but you _did_ give her the chance because I fail at being your wife.”

Oswald tilts his head forward, trying to meet with her glittering sapphire eyes while he lifts their hands and put them on his chest, “You are more than I deserve. You brighten my path, even in darkest depth of abyss. T’is why I cannot lose you, Gwendolyn. Your light is my hope.”

“I have once betrayed you for my father’s love, in exchange of yours. I have hurt you like your caretaker did. You will get disillusioned someday upon this you called light.” The Valkyrie scorns herself, refusing to lay her eyes on the one she holds dear most. Myris lightly stomps her right foot, resisting to break the fragile moment by shouting at her Master that it is not true. It is not her role, but her husband to reaffirm her confidence in their shared affection.

“How should I express it to you to make you understand how you change my life?” He takes her hands to his lips, kissing them gently like a whisper of spring breeze on budding petals. “My dearest Gwendolyn, when you took me, your foe as your husband, you did not lie, manipulate or disregard me. When you are supposed to despise me, somehow you still open your heart to accept me, no matter how repulsive I am. Even when I have failed to fulfil my vow to Onyx, you nobly fought unnecessary battle for someone who points his sword on your neck. And when I opened my eyes after your risked your life against Queen Odette, I thought an angel had preposterously come upon me, the sinner, but it was you all along, Gwendolyn. When I have this life with you, none of the sweet dreams could compare to this reality; it makes me think I could a better man for you. Even now, my heart is bursting and suffocating with so much happiness that I fear it will slip away through my fingers one day.”

Myris flushes at the raw, honest confession. She feels like she is not supposed to be here as she is only a bystander, but she needs to be here to serve her Lady if she requires her in urgent need. Even now, she fidgets, wondering if she should busy herself by cleaning Gwendolyn’s armor boots so she would be ready in a matter of minutes if she decides to jump into battles by her husband’s side.

Even for her as a spectator, such heartfelt declaration flutters her heart. She could only imagine the raging turmoil in Valkyrie Princess’s heart, who is strapped for affection. Her confusion is blatantly projected on her features though; her cheeks and neck are deep scarlet, her shoulders trembles and her wings flutters like jittery hummingbird. She bites her lower lip unconsciously as she closes her eyes forcefully, as if trying vainly to contain an emotion within her.

Gwendolyn mutters, “It is not fair when you speak like that.”

“Like what?” He cocks his head to the side, innocently oblivious to her chaotic mind.

She glances up at him with shy smile, “I will show you.”

With that declaration, Gwendolyn loops her arms around his neck, keeping him close as her prisoner. Her breasts are only an inch away from his chest and her breath tickles his jaw as she sighs. “I am truly happy that I could walk down this path with you, even if it is schemed by someone else. Throughout my life, I have been doctrine that love is dishonourable for a sky soldier; that there is no other happiness aside spilling blood of your enemy, bestowing victories to our King and flying through the sky in armor. Nonetheless, my heart was empty and it hurts when my sister died and not even Father lamented her loss. There was no purpose in my life but to chase the non-existent dream, to the point that I sought glory in death.”

Oswald grimaces at her words, reminiscing her suffering while wishing that he could protect her from pain. The bravest Valkyrie did not even falter at the Death’s door, yet she is hurt by thoughtless words of her respected Father. How he yearns to ease the pain of this majestic blue bird, but past is long gone. He is about to soothe her, but her palm lightly covers his lips.

“You are the first one who notice me as I am, with all of my faults and never condemn. You are like an axe which tears away my closed door and shows me how beautiful and bright the world truly is. Your words always balm my soul. You teach me how beautiful, forgiving and resilient love is, unlike what people always told me; that it is a strength to have love, not a weakness. You show me how generous love is, never expecting a reward. Even if it is just an illusion, this gives me the boundless courage to face the uncertain futures. It is _you_ , who lights my path and opens my eyes to possibilities.”

Oswald freezes like a statue. Somewhere between her confessions, he seems to stop breathing and keeps staring at her like she is sprouting jests. And when Gwendolyn smiles, _truly smiles_ , at him with enflamed cheeks, it is like a volcano erupts within him. His skin is flushed as red as cherry tomatoes and he sucks in air like dying fish. Feeling awkward with an unfamiliar sensation pitting in his belly, Oswald is pulling back while evading her fond gaze and putting his hands between them. However, his wife has foreseen it beforehand and tightens her embrace.

Looking at her husband, Gwendolyn completely and blissfully feels triumphant. It is always Oswald who puts her heart in good kind of chaos and renders her speechless with his overwhelming love confession. She has lost count on how many times he wins arguments because of this. She does realize that he does not attempt to win by flattering her since winning arguments always put him in disadvantages, be it sweeping the area for intruder or fixing the broken furniture. She could not face the adoration reflected in his bright eyes whenever he talks about her, since she hardly thinks that she is such a perfect person portrayed by him. Nevertheless, slowly she wants to believe his words and try to be the best version of herself she could love.

And she wishes to do the same to him. She knows that he still disparages himself.

“If I am your star, then you are my moon. I will always shine by your side and will only shine brightest with your presence. If it is not for you, I would have never thought of attaining happiness outside the battlefield. Nothing could even compare to the happiness I feel this moment. The happiness I felt as a Valkyrie was like a dust in a desert, hardly perceivable among the sea of despair. If being a fallen Valkyrie is all it takes to be by your side, I would never hesitate to repeat this path again to be with you.”

A long silence falls, thus Gwendolyn loosens her arms around Oswald a little to look at him. Myris chuckles as she looks at the pleased expression on her Master’s face. Oswald is completely red, flabbergasted and he appears to be brain-frozen. The Shadow Knight opens his mouth, only to closes it again, not knowing how to form words. It is rather alarmingly cute sight, a rare gem indeed to be able to witness the famed Ringford’s finest soldier in such vulnerable state and live to tell the tale.

Gwendolyn cocks her head and smiles convincingly at him with her arms on his shoulders, “I wish not to be apart with you. Won’t you take me along to patrolling the area from the bandits?”

Oswald tentatively nods, to Gwendolyn’s delight. She immediately turns to Myris with slight spring on her feet, “Myris, please help me prepare my armor. I shall take out my spear on this expedition.”

Myris immediately jumps into action swiftly. From the corner of her eyes, she notices that her poor husband is still stiffened as her Lady flurries around in her preparation. She could not help but smile.

It is truly a peaceful morning, indeed.


End file.
